Air Jordan Spizike The whole story of Lona

a sees a hall porter with some sacking and decides to talk to him. \"Friend, what sort of time is it?\" he asks.
\"Past nine. What are you standing here for? Move on.\"
lona moves on a few steps, doubles up, and abandons himself to his grief. In less than five minutes he straightens himself, holds his head up as if he felt some sharp pain, and gives a tug at the reins; he can bear it no longer.
\"The stables, \" he thinks, and the little horse, as if it understood, starts off at a trot. About an hour and a half later lona is seated by a large dirty stove. Around the stove, on the floor, on the benches, people are snoring; the air is thick and suffocating hot. loan looks at the sleepers, scratches himself, and regrets having returned so early. One of the car drivers half gets up, grunts sleepily, and stretches toward a bucket of water.
\"Do you want a drink?\"
\"Don\'t I want a drink!
\"That\'s so? Your good health! But listen, mate ??? you know, my son is dead ... Did you hear? This week, in the hospital ... It\'s a long story.\"
lona looks to see what effect his words have, but sees none ??? the young man has hidden his face and is fast asleep again. The old man sighs, and scratches his head. Just as much as the young one wants to drink, the old man wants to talk. Is it nothing to tell?
\"I\'ll go and look after my horse, thinks lona, \"there\'s always time to sleep. No fear of that!\"
He puts on his coat, and goes to the stables to his horse; he thinks of the corn, the hay, the weather. When he is alone, he dares not think of his son; he can speak about him to anyone,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but to think of him, and picture him to himself, is unbearably painful.
\"Are you tucking in?\" lona asks his horse, looking at its bright eyes, \"Go on, tuck in. Though we\'ve not earned our corn, we can eat hay.\" lona is silent for a moment then continues, \"That\'s how it is, my old horse. There\'s no more Kuzma Inarch. Now let\'s say, you had a foal, you were the foal\'s mother, and suddenly, let\'s say that foal went and left you to live after him. It would be sad, wouldn\'t it?\"
The little horse munches, listens, and breathes over its master\'s hand ... lona\'s feelings are too much for him, and he tells the little horse the whole story.
Lona sees a hall porter with some sacking and decides to talk to him. \"Friend, what sort of time is it?\" he asks.
\"Past nine. What are you standing here for? Move on.\"
lona moves on a few steps, doubles up, and abandons himself to his grief. In less than five minutes he straightens himself, holds his head up as if he felt some sharp pain,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and gives a tug at the reins; he can bear it no longer.
\"The stables, \" he thinks, and the little horse, as if it understood, starts off at a trot. About an hour and a half later lona is seated by a large dirty stove. Around the stove,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], on the floor, on the benches, people are snoring; the air is thick and suffocating hot. loan looks at the sleepers, scratches himself, and regrets having returned so early. One of the car drivers half gets up, grunts sleepily, and stretches toward a bucket of water.
\"Do you want a drink?\"
\"Don\'t I want a drink!
\"That\'s so? Your good health! But listen, mate ??? you know, my son is dead ... Did you hear? This week, in the hospital ... It\'s a long story.\"
lona looks to see what effect his words have, but sees none ??? the young man has hidden his face and is fast asleep again. The old man sighs, and scratches his head. Just as much as the young one wants to drink, the old man wants to talk. Is it nothing to tell?
\"I\'ll go and look after my horse, thinks lona, \"there\'s always time to sleep. No fear of that!\"
He puts on his coat, and goes to the stables to his horse; he thinks of the corn, the hay, the weather. When he is alone,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], he dares not think of his son; he can speak about him to anyone, but to think of him, and picture him to hims

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